To Leap Without Looking
by even lovers drown
Summary: This summer, an unhappy, overly-reserved Gabriella Montez has borrowed her best friend's identity and jetted off to a new place in hopes of reinventing herself while trying her hardest not to fall for the boy who thinks he's her cousin, Troy. AU.
1. First, my pathetic inhibition surfaced

**1.**

If a tree falls in a forest and no one's around to hear it, is it still loud?

**2.**

"If you have a tank of two hundred fish, and ninety-nine percent of them are guppies. How many guppies do you have to remove if you want ninety-eight percent of the remaining fish to be guppies?"

That's how Mr. University-of-Chicago-has-an-excellent-math-program opens up his presentation.

What an intelligent way to gain the attention of a room filled with sixteen-year-olds.

The school decided to bring in a college teacher to be a guest speaker today, hoping it'll finally get the eleventh graders to clue in to real life. He's here to educate us and maybe persuade some students into a math program after high school.

Ugh. Can you imagine waking up each day to equations and parabolas and functions, devoting your existence to numbers? Please.

Mouth wide open so that we can all see his dentures, Mr. Blake (his real name) stands at the front of the room, waiting for an answer expectantly.

But all my classmates are still in shock that we got to miss a calculus period only to do, well, more math.

"Anyone?" His mouth clamps shut, and he tucks his hands behind his back. Although he should be wise, considering he's a university math teacher, he gives off a peculiar vibe with his thick glasses and innocent expression. Like a mellow grandparent that you can easily persuade into letting you have cake for dinner. It almost seems like he's underestimated how immature and uninspired high schoolers can be compared to his hard-working university students.

Much to his relief, the answers start to fly.

"You have to remove one guppy."

"What? That doesn't make sense. You have to remove four guppies."

"No, it's two!"

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

"It's five!"

Mr. Blake eagerly watches the students argue in amusement, I'm sure.

"Two!"

I know they're wrong. I know he knows and anticipated their errors.

So maybe he does understand how we'll tend to jump to conclusions, taking the easy way out in lieu of letting the question sink in.

"One!"

The correct response is one hundred guppies. You must remove one hundred guppies to have two non-guppies and ninety-eight guppies left in the tank. No matter how much the basketball jock, Jason, beside me screams, "Three!" the right answer is one hundred.

"Two!"

No, not two. It's _one hundred_.

"Four!"

I'm ninety-nine percent sure.

Seriously. If I was right, then you'd think there'd be at least one other person in this room who'd say the same thing.

"Three!"

I've never been Harvard-scholarship smart, but I'm not mentally challenged either.

Why don't I simply state my answer, too? Because my self-esteem level has always been in the negatives. I'm constantly doubting myself, repeating 'you're better off keeping your mouth shut, anyway' like a mantra over and over again.

I've been too self-conscious ever since the maggot-in-my-homework incident of freshman year. My number one advice? Never leave/forget your lunch in your bag for very long because flies will go and recommend other flies to lay their eggs in there as if it's an exclusive tropical resort. Next thing you know, you're having maggot nightmares where you're classmates' laughs start to ferociously eat at your flesh. It's very gruesome and horrific. Believe me.

From then on, I've intentionally made myself generic and boring, all in the pursuit of being overlooked by my fellow peers. I'll take being silently passed in the hall over a jeer about having a rotting bug in my hair any day. It's no flip-a-coin situation.

I never take risks. Ever. Compared to the consequences, they don't seem worth it. I'm so paranoid that you won't catch me skipping over the last step of the staircase in fear that my foot will get caught and I'll face-plant on the linoleum floor.

So if I shout out my solution and get it wrong, I'm sure my face will burn so badly that I'm sure it'll burst into flames. One hundred isn't even in the same ballpark as the other one-digit numbers.

It's difficult. Being grey and feeling insignificant all the time.

Then I remind myself, 'better safe than sorry.'

Then I see the squirming fly larvae everywhere. They're hanging off my binder. Squished in my textbooks. Crawling inside every corner of my bag. Leaking out into the classroom for everyone with eyes to see.

I _feel_ them on me. Then I shiver in disgust.

And I instantly shut up. Every time.

"It's two."

"No, are you stupid? It's four."

Today, before school, I brushed and flossed my teeth, washed my face and combed my hair. With every stroke, I told myself my day would be normal, and I would later go to bed the same Gabriella Montez that had woken up in the morning.

Evidently, as I squirm in my seat and grip the sides of the plastic chair, I'm almost certain that if I give my answer, I'll only go to sleep feeling as if I've been drenched with a murky bucket-full of bitter regret.

"It's obviously three."

I'll be wrong, and Mr. Blake will chuckle, shake his head and tell himself 'this girl is never getting into college.'

But if I get it right—if I happen to be the luckiest girl in the world and get it right, I think he might just look at me admiringly and proudly. He'll be thankful that there's hope for the next generation in a dismal sea full of idiots.

I'm rarely proud of myself. And I don't know if my mother is. We're not exactly close. I'm an only child, and I don't even have parents for friends. As a kid, I took French instead of Spanish so I wouldn't have to understand my mother and father's arguments. They're divorced now. (I'm living with my mom, but I don't mind that she wouldn't care if I chose to run to Calcutta this summer or become a nun.) To this day, I can't speak a word of the language other than 'Hola.' Given that my last name is Montez, it's admittedly a tad disgraceful.

Oh, if I got it right then I may be considered smart in my school. My peers would turn to me and mentally erase my previous 'maggot-breeder' title and replace it with 'smart-girl-to-be-respected.' There's a good chance I'd be talked to, as well. Even if it's just for last night's homework answers.

"This is all very irrelevant." That's Sharpay Evans. My best friend. My only friend.

Also, she fortunately transferred here two weeks after my accident, just when all the buzz decrescendoed and the word 'maggot' stopped popping up in every sentence. To this day, I still don't know how she puts up with me and my boringness. She's rich and a tad spoiled, so most people get a wrong first impression and discretely avoid her. She does have a boyfriend though, Zeke, who has an after-school job working at a pet store, but she doesn't like to hang out with his group of friends. Both of our desperate needs for company brought us together, somehow.

She inevitably learned of my reputation, and acted like our friendship was only her barely tolerating me, but deep down, I think our friendship is truly genuine.

In the midst of all the babbling, Mr. Blake booms, "So you all think it's either one, two, three, four or five, right?"

"It's three!" bellows the guy beside me. I'd like to keep my hearing intact, Jason, thank you.

"It's four!"

"Two!"

My palms sweat, and I bite my tongue to keep from inadvertently blurting out something.

"Well, the number of guppies you must remove is"—a last-chance-to-answer smile graces his wrinkled face—"one hundred."

**3.**

Have I slapped myself yet?

Still no? I'll do it twice later.

**4.**

If a girl knows all the answers, but never speaks, is she still smart?


	2. So I decided to be reckless

**5.**

Sharpay heads my way after the presentation, weaving through the lumbering crowd of half-asleep students. It's hard to miss her. The sequins on her expensive, red top could very well spell out, 'My daddy is richer than yours' and she sticks out like an ornate Christmas tree in a field of trampled weeds. The Evans family must be thriving these days. I haven't seen a repeated outfit in months.

She falls into step beside me as we exit the room and clucks her tongue to express her disapproval. "That was a waste of time."

"I knew the answer, Shar," I sigh, "to the first question."

"Oh." She doesn't believe me. Her annoyance shows. "Then why didn't you just say it?"

"I don't know," I mumble. "I don't like taking risks."

"Then shouldn't you be happy you didn't?" Heading towards our lockers, we turn left and continue down the hall. She suddenly snaps, "I don't understand why you're being so mopey about this, a minor regret. Some people have bigger things to worry about."

Finally, I notice how tense and agitated she is. "What's wrong?"

"A disagreement with the parents, life." Sharpay rolls her eyes. Stopping at her locker, she flips her blond hair over her shoulder and spins the dial a few times. When I leave to pick up my own books, her hand reaches out to grab my arm and stops me from moving any further. I turn around to meet her mischievous expression." Actually, come with me to the pet store after school, Gabriella. I have a proposal for you."

**6.**

Zeke, a tall high school senior and member of the basketball team, would stereotypically look out of place at a pet store. But he's really just as sweet and cuddly as the hamsters they sell here, if not more. Sharpay adores him and his unbelievable ability to produce the best cookies, cupcakes and brownies that I've ever had. Taking care of animals is his after school job because the money used for purchasing cooking supplies has to come from somewhere. I just hope the guy washes his hands prior to baking those tasty pastries.

We enter the store and are immediately hit by the smell of animals. I wrinkle my nose. Zeke spots us from beside an indecisive customer who's considering her options for cat food, and he waves subtly, grinning. Sharpay blows him a kiss. Both of them appear that much happier simply from being in the same building.

"Are we waiting for Zeke? His shift just started, Sharpay."

"No, no." She shakes her head, her white gold hoop earrings swaying. "I need some things for my pet dog, too. Boi, remember?"

"So you want to tell me why you were so ticked off at school today? Did you forget to study for your Spanish test?"

"Spanish is, like, one of my best subjects for your information."

I'll take her word for it since I wouldn't be able to see her in action all the way from my French class. "What did you want to tell me then?"

"Okay, so hear me out. You may be skeptical at first. My parents are going away this July and August. Although they've cruelly forbidden me to join them, it's okay because, behind their backs, I've already bought two tickets for me and Zeke to go to the Caribbean. The problem is that my parents are sending me away to live with my aunt for those two months. It's sort of a punishment. It's humiliating, but they think I've been spending too much, and budget thing didn't work, so they want me to go to Albuquerque with my aunt since she and her husband aren't as rich as we are. They're average. My parents hope it'll teach me a life lesson about the less fortunate or something. So absurd. Can you believe that my parents want to send me somewhere this summer?" She's as incredulous as a vegetarian who's just been offered bacon. "They think I'm too spoiled and not down to earth. They want me to be 'frugal'. Thrifty. Cheap._ A penny-pincher,_" she hisses.

I can't help but notice her earrings again. They're new, I'm positive. "I'm sure your spending habits won't have to change too drastically--"

"Look at me, Gabriella. Do I _seem _like the saving type to you? Is a trip to the _Caribbean_ too much to ask?" she exasperatedly whines while shaking my shoulders, staring at me all wide-eyed.

"What's your proposal?"

"Gabriella, you see, I absolutely have to be with Zeke this summer! I've never wanted anything more, not even the Louis Vuitton bag that daddy didn't let my buy. I can't be refunded for the tickets, and I already promised him we'd go. It's my last summer with him. He's going, like, oversees next year for college, and I love him, and I can't crush his heart! What I'm saying is...I'm asking you to take my place."

"Um, I think Zeke will notice it's me."

She releases my shoulders from her grip. "No, I meant in Albuquerque with my aunt! A while ago, weren't you complaining that you have nothing to do when the school year ends? Well, I have two. Take one of mine. I won't charge a thing."

"Are you serious?"

"It'll be a good experience for you. You said before that you didn't take risks, and I think this'll be good to overcome your fear. You can do it. My acting skills _must_ have rubbed off on you."

"Uh, _hello_?" I tug at a strand of my dark hair. I'd rather not draw Sharpay's attention to my split ends, but I'm aware that I have to get my point across as clearly as possible. "No matter how much I can act like you, I'm not blond."

She waits for me to make sense to her. Unbelievable.

"My last name's Montez; I'm Hispanic. I look nothing like your father."

"Well...tell them...your mom's Spanish. You know, they've never met my mother either. They were too busy for the wedding and eventually lost contact. It's weird. My father and his sister aren't close, but, just out of the blue, they briefly spoke a while ago and then my credit card bill and I were mentioned. I don't know what he told her, but my aunt said she'd let me stay with her this summer, thinking it'd be great to finally meet her niece and bring our families closer together. Dad thought it was a genius idea and is intent on taking her up on her offer. Obviously, we both can't be happy unless I'm in two places at once. So that's where you come in. You can totally pull this off, Gabriella."

"This seems like it's going to have a horrible, _life-threatening_ outcome. And what about Ryan?" I refer to her twin brother.

"He'll be at some performing arts camp far away."

"Someone's bound to find out."

"No one will. Besides, it's not going to be just you and my aunt and uncle. I heard they have a kid, a boy our age. It would suck if you find him cute or anything, because you're supposed to be me, you know, his cousin. Hm, hopefully he's nice and not a jerk." She pauses in contemplation, and then continues persuading me. "But anyways, it'd be perfect. Pull the Amanda Bynes thing, where in the movie she tells her mom she's staying with her dad and tells her dad she's staying with her mom. Didn't you say they were divorced?"

"I've never visited my dad before! Ever!" I exclaim. "My parents will never believe that I want to. And if they do, I've never been on a plane either. They're scary."

"Airplanes are safe, trust me. Come on, Gabriella, a brilliant opportunity is waiting for you to answer the door! You can't be happy with such a boring life, can you?"

I flinch.

"Sorry, not boring exactly, but you're waking up each day, doing the same routine. Summer is for breaking out of that routine and doing something fun. Lying and pretending you're me will give you the adrenaline rush you need. It'll be more thrilling than a...a roller coaster."

I stare blankly at her. "I don't like roller coasters."

So, she's desperate to vacation with Zeke this summer, but does she realize how insanely irrational she sounds? And she'd be talking a huge risk herself. I can't understand how she'd do that just for a boy. I mean, I've noticed guys who are cute, but I wonder what it would feel like to be in love. Apparently, your perspective changes entirely, and consequences fail to register in your mind before you put everything on the line.

"That's not really the point. Can't you see how you could thank me for this later, when you come back after having the time of your life? People dream of this, being able to hide behind another identity and doing whatever you want."

"What if...what if you have a family reunion sometime down the road? What'll happen then?"

She scoffs, "Knowing my father, that won't occur."

I'm still unconvinced. "You told me this was to bring your families closer, so that's not able to be guaranteed."

"I promise I'll take all the blame for it if we get caught. And your mom will never know. You can have a while to ponder your final answer, too."

I grimace. This sounds tempting. Darn. Think, Gabriella. A whole new place. With people void of any maggot ridden memories and previous judgements. Appealing, isn't it? Yet everything could veer off the planned path, and I could be caught. I'd certainly mess up.

"Please, Gabi?" Composing herself, she adjusts her purse strap's position and picks up a dog toy off the shelf.

"Shar, I don't think I can. I'm sorry."

She glances in Zeke's direction, wistful. Her hot pink nails puncture the plastic packaging of the toy. Feigning interest, she says, "Oh. Well, I was going to purchase this, anyway."

I watch as her arms rapidly fill up with a variety of dog supplies. She always goes on autopilot when she shops to forget her problems. With each dollar spent, the future seems a little brighter until the next dilemma arises.

I fight feelings of guilt, not comprehending them. Assuming another person's identity is wrong, is it not? My eyes drift to a store employee who's feeding a lizard squirming mealworms. You know what mealworms remind me of? Maggots.

Glancing to the right of the store's reptile section, I see Zeke speaking to a mother and her son, who's about seven or eight, next to a large water-filled tank. If the boy were a dwarf, he'd definitely be Grumpy. His arms are defiantly crossed, and he's frowning. "I don't want pet guppies!" he moans, loudly.

His mom sympathetically says, "We don't have enough time to care for a chinchilla, honey. It's either fish or no pets at all."

"You promised me a pet for my birthday!"

"Guppies are perfectly fine pets. They're cheap and good for beginners."

"Guppies are _boring_. You can't cuddle with them, or take them for a walk. They don't fetch. They don't play. They do the same thing each day. They're no fun, too repetitious. They swim and swim and swim and never leave the fish tank, living a pointless life. They'll never get anywhere. I don't know why people want them."

My eavesdropping stops as the mother starts scolding her son for his insensitive words in a public place. I hate internally battling with myself all the time, trying to analyse everything that could go wrong or the potential of something good happening. I turn into freak show with only myself in the audience. And I want to stop being overly reserved. So here goes making a snap decision.

"Actually, yes, Sharpay, I'll do it." I take a deep, self-motivational breath. "I'm going to break out of the fish tank."

"Huh?" Dumbfounded, she shoots me an inquisitive look.

"I'll pretend to be you for this summer."

**7.**

Better make that three slaps to the face.


	3. And things started to look up

**7.**

Dammit. The school year has never ended so suddenly.

I honestly think I should have been disciplined more as a child. Maybe I needed to be grounded a couple more times. Perhaps even gotten a spanking. Because then I wouldn't be lying to both parents about my whereabouts for this summer, falsely claiming that I'm someone else to several good-hearted strangers, and helping Sharpay Evans convince her family that she really is going to change.

I wouldn't be trotting through this Chicago airport, shooting nervous looks over my shoulder every ten seconds to make sure no one's caught us yet.

Sharpay, meanwhile, eagerly skips alongside me. "Hurry, Gabi, you're going to miss your flight--well, it was originally my flight, but it's not anymore because you're the bestest friend in all of America!" she squeals, delirious with joy.

Petrified, I pick up my pace and pull my rolling, carry-on luggage behind me. "Oh, no, I'm so late. I'll never make it!"

She follows, scurrying effortlessly even in heels. "If you didn't panic and have that breakdown in the restroom earlier, you'd be on time, you know."

I pant, "You never had to reapply my make-up, either!"

"I just want you to have a good first impression on my relatives!"

Groaning, I keep my eyes peeled for Gate B14.

Sharpay is admiring some souvenir shops while jogging. She has two hours until Zeke will join her and their flight will take off because it'd be suspicious to her parents if she didn't enter the airport at the time the plane they think she'd be on leaves. You can take the girl out shopping mall, but you can't take the shopping mall out of the girl.

_"Attention all passengers: American Airlines flight 139 is now boarding at gate B14 for Albuquerque, New Mexico. Please have your passports and boarding passes ready."_

Thankfully, the gate comes into view. I hurry over to the line of awaiting travellers. "Bye, Sharpay!" I yell. No, that's not what I wanted to say. I wanted to tell her I'd be heading straight back home and she could deal with her troubles by herself.

"Bye, Gabriella! Thank you so much! You'll have a great time," she responds, giddy.

"Wait, Shar," I call, "what are their names?"

Sharpay dismisses me with a wave of her hand. "I'm sure they'll introduce themselves. I can't really remember what my dad told me they were, anyway. Bye, Gabi! Have fun! Be daring! Tootles!"

Then she excitedly spins on her heels with an everything-is-falling-into-place smile on her lips and clear, Caribbean dreams in her mind.

**8.**

Everyone has boarded the plan, but we're still stationary. Something about the runway needing to be cleared first.

The guy sitting next to me is sporting Donald Trump hair, is wearing a black suit and has a briefcase sitting at his feet. I attempt small talk. "The weather's nice for flying...isn't it?"

"Sure," he replies, indifferent. Before I can voice another word, he pulls out a newspaper and earphones. All right then.

A flight attendant strolls by. Oh, no. She's stopping at my aisle. "Excuse me, miss." Oh, no. She's about to inform me, 'Your mother called. She knows everything. You're not living to see your seventeenth birthday,' but instead, she says, "Can you put on your seat belt? You can take it off once we've reached a comfortable flying altitude and the captain has turned the seat belt sign off."

"Of course! I'm sorry." Flustered, I fumble around, searching for the buckle of my seatbelt.

I look to my right. It appears Introverted Business Man has sat on it. Then I hear him passing gas. Oh, wonderful. Breathing through my mouth, I tap him on the shoulder and awkwardly gesture downwards. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but can I have my seat belt? You're sitting on it."

He huffs impatiently and retrieves it for me. "Here."

"Thank you," I say quietly, as he plops the buckle onto my hand. Gross, it's warm. Grosser, it'll be on my lap for the duration of the ride.

A flight attendant goes over safety procedures. Frightening images of crash landings trickle through my thoughts.

To distract myself, I try to imagine what Sharpay's cousin will look like. Maybe an average looking guy, since I can't see anyone related to Sharpay Evans being a total nerd. How about blond hair and brown eyes, just like her? I'm picturing Ryan in my head. But appearance won't make a difference, because all I wish is that he'll be friendly and welcoming.

Minutes later, we're finally we're moving. A slow pace at first, but then we're racing down the runway, my heart beating at a speed to match the aircraft's. Something's shrieking. Good, it's the engines, not me. The plane ascends. I reach for the barf bag for good measure (Farting Business Man shuffles uncomfortably) and glance out the small, round window to see the airport getting tinier and tinier before it disappears beneath the clouds.

My ears are clogging up. Hold on, is that supposed to happen?

**9.**

It's okay. I'm fine for now. According to the captain, (who I'm sure has been flying for a while now, with lots of experience) we're about halfway there.

Also, my ears are on the verge of exploding, but I'm attempting to ignore that.

**10.**

The Albuquerque sunshine feels warm on my face. Licking my dry lips, I taste hope. Or it might be the salted peanuts from the flight. Who really knows?

I stride along with a crowd of other passengers who I've recently exited the plane with. They disperse and some have people who greet them, welcoming the tired travellers home or to their new destination.

I gulp, having no clue where to go. My fingers clasp and unclasp the handle of my bag.

I stand there like an idiot until I see a family holding a large, white sign that says _'Sharpay Evans' _in chunky lettering. They look stunned as I approach them, but eventually conclude I'm their never-seen-before relative. Goodness, they're all beaming, so I force a smile, too. It comes out shy and uncertain, but if I'm lucky, from far away it might pass as eagerness.

Standing close to each other and looking precious, the Boltons are like those friendly families you see in movies, except that they aren't paid actors who win Oscars.

"Hi, um," I stammer, "uh, I'm Sharpay Evans."

"Oh, my, it's so nice to finally meet you, Sharpay. I'm your Aunt Lucille." She plops the sign in her husband's arms and hugs me. "Welcome to Albuquerque. I hope you enjoy this summer with us."

"Nice to meet you, too, Aunt Lucille," I gulp, hesitantly hugging her back. It would be less awkward if we were actually related.

"I'm Jack," the guy who's supposed to be my uncle says. He decides to shake my hand.

"Hi, Uncle Jack."

I turn to their son.

Oh, it's not Ryan Evans--it's Gorgeous. Gorgeous is wearing blue jeans with a red and white baseball shirt. He has the most handsome features I've ever seen, and his chestnut locks catch the sunlight beautifully in an inhuman way. Yes, Gorgeous isn't from this world, not with those eyes, anyway. They're the glorious blue that covers the sky on a day that promises happiness.

"Hello..." I start, then trail off.

He simply stares at me, no longer smiling. "You can't remember my name, can you?" I'm silent and wide-eyed. His voice has a tincture of annoyance. "Your dad must mentioned it to you at some point."

So, he's stereotyped the rich girl as uncaring and snobby, hasn't he? "I'm sorry. Um, it was an exhausting flight and, uh, your name accidentally slipped from my mind," I try to explain.

"Troy," his dad warns him, "be nice. She's your cousin."

"I really am sorry, Troy. I didn't mean to forget." It's not like he knows my real name either, though.

"Okay, Sharpay, let's go to the baggage claim to collect your belongings," Lucille changes the topic, already heading off.

It takes a moment too long for me to react; I'll have to learn to start responding to my new name now. "Yes, let's go," I titter, blushing.

Huge bags slide onto the luggage carousel from a chute. I wait patiently for two hot pink ones containing my clothes and personal items to appear; Sharpay lent me them, since I didn't own any myself.

Jack inquires, "How are your parents and Ryan, Sharpay?"

I reply, "They're doing very well."

"What's your mother's name?" asks Lucille, curious.

I consider using Sharpay's real mother's name, Derby Evans, but I use my mom's name to better explain my lack of resemblance to Mr. Evans. "Maria Montez, well, Maria Evans now."

"Do you have pictures of your family? Of your childhood? We'd love to see them! We haven't seen Ryan yet at all. It's too bad he couldn't visit as well since he's at a Performing Arts camp. I was going to ask your dad, but I think your parents will be unreachable for the summer. He told me that he and your mother needed a break from their hectic work schedules and decided to go vacationing without Internet access or phones to distract them. Oh, you know what? I have some of Troy's pictures when he was young to share with you!"

"_Mo-om_," a slouching Troy groans from the airport bench.

"It's okay, Aunt Lucille, I'd rather have his permission," I say. Troy looks surprised at my response.

"Oh, you're too nice," she chuckles. "But all right. If you ever change your mind, I can always pull them out whenever you want." She winks, and I giggle. Then we resume the wait.

Ten silent minutes pass, but nothing shows up. Antsy, I watch the other people recognize their luggage and heave it off of the machine.

Lucille asks, "What do your bags look like, dear?"

"They're pink and very noticeable," I answer.

Troy sighs irritably then begins pacing. I feel guilty for making them wait, but I checked the sign, and it said the baggage on the flight from Chicago is supposed to be here. Unless it got stolen, that is. I scan the airport for anyone with anything pink, only to find dull colors everywhere.

We ask around for help, yet it's repeatedly confirmed that we're waiting in the right place.

We stay for at least an hour, and with every minute that passes, Troy looks as though he's getting that much closer to simply jetting off on his own. I, the out-of-the-blue cousin, probably inconvenienced his summer plans in some way. But if he was going to be this begrudging to meet his relative, then he should have stayed home.

All of a sudden, I start feeling self-conscious, because if Sharpay was actually here, she would have charmed everyone and had them laughing through this wait with her charismatic self. Now I feel like a girl who just exists to occupy space and take up other people's time.

I glance over again at the blue-eyed boy. Still frowning. Hopefully, we won't frequently cross each other's paths these next two months.

Troy's mother questions, "Sharpay, you didn't...purposely leave your belongings at home, did you? This isn't a ploy to buy new things?"

"No, of course not!"

"Sorry, that was rude of me. It's just that your father warned me that sometimes..."

"It's okay. I'm genuinely trying to turn over a new leaf, Aunt Lucille." I manage a convincing grin.

She smiles warmly. "It's good for you to sound so determined." Sharpay's father must have made it seem to them as though she was extremely addicted to shopping to the point where she was almost incorrigible. So he was pretty accurate then.

I sigh. This freaking luggage better show up soon. I'm dying for a shower and a nap; my hair is greasy and my eyelids are drooping. In addition to that, my ears are still somewhat blocked. With never having any airplane experience, I don't know how to fix it either. All the sounds are muffled, and it feels like there's unknown matter jammed deep inside my ears.

An aged Spanish tourist approaches us, appearing lost. He makes eye contact with Jack and says, "¿Habla usted español?"

Jack scratches the back of his neck, but Lucille is delighted. She tells me, "None of us can speak Spanish, but my brother told me all about your Spanish marks, and he's so proud of you. Do you and your mother converse in Spanish sometimes? Since you're fluent in the language, maybe you can help this man out!" I notice that when she gets excited, Mrs. Bolton can really ramble.

I clear my throat. How do I get out of this one? "Um..." Interrupting myself, I sneeze.

"Salud," he says.

Salud. That sounds somewhat like 'salut,' which in French means 'hi.' It's odd because 'salut' is informal, and I was taught not to use it with strangers. But if he insists. "Salud," I say back, hoping the two languages are similar. Hey, if lune and luna both mean moon in French and Spanish respectively...

He raises an eyebrow, confused. Great.

I rack my brain, trying to think of a Spanish phrase that could be buried somewhere in my memory that could help me out right now. What did I always used to tell my grandmother when she visited? "No hablo español," I quickly answer in a lowered tone so no one but him can hear me.

"Gracias de todas maneras," he sighs, nods, and wanders away.

"What did you tell him?" Jack questions.

"Uh, that...the restrooms were to his right."

"If you have free time, you can teach Troy Spanish. I keep telling him he should learn a second language, anyway. We'll pay you for your services," Lucille suggests. "Just as long as you spend your earnings in moderation," she catches herself.

I decline her offer, "Actually, I'm not a very good teacher. It wouldn't be a good idea."

"Nonsense, the boy knows squat. Anything will help," Jack says.

"I'm right here, dad." Troy rolls his eyes. "Sure, my parent's newly discovered niece pops out from nowhere, and then, suddenly, I get picked on?"

Amused, Jack shakes his head. "You know I'm joking, son. Besides, you are taking Spanish next year, and it'd be perfect if Sharpay helps since you need a good mark to stay on the basketball team."

"You play basketball?" I ask the impatient teenager.

"Yeah, I was captain of the varsity team last year. We won the championship. Do you play?" I'm stunned that he's really speaking to me directly, but sports can get a lot of guys to talk. Go figure.

"No, I don't," I answer. Even if I did, there's no way I'd say yes, as I'd probably be invited to join a game. And there's no way I'm going against all that muscle. But what nice muscles they are. I wonder if Albuquerque gets hot enough in the summer--by hot enough, I mean a temperature at which one would discard their shirt to prevent overheating. Not that I would drool or anything. He does think that I'm his cousin.

**11.**

It concerns me when my stuff has yet to show up. I recognize no one from the plane; they've all found their luggage. I frown, looking around again for potential thieves or anything suspicious. Maybe security was suspicious about the coloring of the bags, thinking no one in their right mind would own luggage that pink, and they're dissecting them at this moment to look for hidden bombs.

Lucille and Jack have been watch-checking and toe-tapping all this time, and I curse the airplane company for worsening my first impression on them.

"Sharpay, honey," Lucille chimes apologetically, "Jack and I are so sorry, but we weren't expecting to be running this late. You see, we have dentist appointments in twenty mintutes, which is the time it takes to get from here to his office. We honestly didn't mean to book our appointments on the date of your arrival, but it was the only opening for weeks. The times were far apart, so we figured you'd be settled in at our house right now, with Troy at home with you, too, and then you kids would have some bonding time."

"Oh, it's all right. I'm fine here, since I can wait for my stuff and call a taxi if you give me the address to your house. If I get there before you, I can stay outside until you come home and unlock the door," I reasure her, adding in the last part to subtly inquire if she had a spare set of keys for me.

"Nonsense!" she exclaims. "Troy will drive you home, and he has his own keys. Troy, you did bring them, right?" He nods, half-hearted. "We actually came here with two cars. Your father saw how much you packed and notified us beforehand so we would be prepared. I'm positive it will all fit in Troy's truck, though. It's pretty big."

"I think he was exaggerating. I only have two bags. They're quite hefty, but not too large that they wouldn't fit in one vehicle," I say.

"It's final then!" Jack beams. "Troy will bring you home, and Lucille and I will join you once our appointments are over."

I shake my head. "But I really can take a taxi. I've made Troy wait long enough."

"Don't be silly, Sharpay," Lucille says warningly. "He will be a gentleman and not leave you alone. So I guess Jack and I will be off now. Again, we're really sorry, but we'll see you later. Bye, honey."

"Bye, Aunt Lucille and Uncle Jack. Thank-you for staying around for as long as you did."

I receive parting hugs from both of them.

Once they've left, Troy shoves his hands into his pockets and raises an eyebrow. "So, Sharpay, huh? Are you named after anything? I've been curious to know ever since I found out you existed."

He's standing there nonchalantly and smirking, like he thinks he's better off than I am.

I figure I can play around with this and have fun because I'm posing as Sharpay, and Gabriella won't be the one sounding like a weirdo if this story is proved wrong.

Straight-faced, I explain to him, "When my mother was pregnant, she tripped in the middle of a road and was having trouble getting up. An oncoming car with a distracted driver was about to hit her when a Shar Pei dog came running and barking, successfully alerting the man inside to stop just in time. That Shar Pei probably saved my life, as well as my twin brother's and my mom's. She perceived it as a sign, so she decided to name me after the breed, as my brother was given its actual name, Ryan."

Then I muffle a giggle with my hand. That was completely improvised, and I'm surprisingly proud of myself for creating something somewhat believable.

"Oh, wow, what a back story," he says, sounding shocked.

"It's pretty cool," I agree. Then I clear my throat. "Um, Troy, I'm going to go to the information desk again to see if there's any news about my missing luggage."

Before receiving a reply, I walk away. The lady at the desk informs me they've finally tracked my bags down, and they're late because they didn't make the flight and were on the next trip from Chicago to Albuquerque, which was arriving in approximately ten more minutes. I share this with Troy.

When I'm finished, he queries, "Were you late because you were doing some last minute shopping?"

"No." I narrow my eyes. "My shopping addiction is not that extreme, and you don't have to assume it is."

"Hey, I'm just trying to get to know you, _cuz_," Troy defends himself.

"I'm not a spoiled brat because I have some issues with spending and my parents are rich. I forgot your name because I've been stressed about his whole ordeal, not because I think I'm better than you or anything. I never meant to make anyone wait, either."

"I never said you were one."

"I've gotten the impression that you aren't too happy about my two-month visit."

"Open arms isn't what you'd usually get when you pop out from nowhere."

"Maybe you should make an effort to get to know me first."

"Fine, okay. You win," he sighs. "I have to admit, though, you aren't as bad as I thought you'd be."

"Uh, thanks?" I divert my eyes to the ground.

"So how was the flight?" Troy asks, finally demonstrating hospitality.

"It was, you know, long and tiring," I reply, "and it made my ears feel messed up."

"You don't know how to clear your ears? I thought you'd have made many trips on your father's private jet by now."

"No more assumptions, remember? And, no, I've never cleared my ears."

"Okay, I'm sorry, Sharpay. Anyway, there are two easy ways you can go about doing this. Either swallow or pinch your nose and blow really hard."

I shoot him a wry look. "Swallowing doesn't work. I think I've done it a few times since exiting the plane."

"Then I guess it's option B."

He could be toying with me, as I'm bound to look like a fool with the second method. Wary, I take his advice, clamping two fingers over my nose and exhaling softly. "Didn't work," I tell him.

"Blow harder," is his response.

I take a deep breath and follow his instruction. Surprisingly, it works, and all the sounds are much more pronounced and coherent now. But, my God, it's a little disorienting. "That was a weird feeling. I'm never doing that again."

Troy chuckles. "What about your flight back?"

I send him a glare. "Right now, I'm just going to live in the moment and not worry about the future." Hm, I think that's the first time I've ever said that sentence.

"Fair enough," he answers. Then he points to the luggage carousel. "Look, bags are starting to come in. Yours are pink, right?"

"Bright pink," I confirm. Much to my delight, two familiar suitcases slide off the conveyor belt and land with a thud on the slanted metal. I sprint towards them, relieved, with Troy following close behind.

He offers, "I'll get them for you." Then he lugs both off of the moving surface almost effortlessly.

"Thank you so much," I tell him, still deliriously happy to be reunited with my belongings.

"No problem."

Everything is going better than expected. I may or may not have expected to be rejected by the Boltons and chased by the police, but maybe I think Sharpay and I can pull this off sans too many complications.

The corners of my lips curve upwards into my own everything-is-falling-into-place smile.

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**I posted a new Troy/Gabriella oneshot, _Under the Sun_, if you're interested in reading it. :)**


	4. But it was harder than I thought

**Man, I haven't update in months! Since June? Sorry to any who's still reading. I thought I had nothing left for this story, but you can't control when the next big wave of inspiration will hit, and before I knew it, I was writing again. As always, thanks so much for your kind reviews. It's nice to hear what readers liked or didn't like. :)**

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**12.**

I hear three rings, then an inquisitive, "Hello?"

"Um, Gabriella?"

"Sorry, you must have the wrong n--"

"Shar," I hiss quietly," it's me."

"_Oh_." She pauses. "Wait. Why did you call me Gabriella before?"

I whisper, "_Because,_" into the phone and then check over my shoulder for any eavesdroppers. The neat guest room of the Bolton's house is empty except for the furniture, my unpacked suitcases and me. For good measure, I draw the blinds. Then I sit on the edge of the double bed's corner that's farthest away from the closed door. "_I'm _supposed to be Sharpay, and it would be weird if someone overheard me talking to another Sharpay." That's me being smart.

"Oh, God," sighs The Real Sharpay Evans, "you are much too paranoid."

I twist the spiral phone cord around my fingers, wishing I had a cell phone to use instead. "Well, how many other people are named Sharpay? It wouldn't be unusual for someone named ... Jessica or Anna or even Gabriella to know someone with the same first name as them. How many people do you know have your name?"

"Actually, I was named after someone, you know, a Hungarian supermodel that my parents befriended on one of their trips," she tells me, matter-of-fact.

"Really?" There goes my Shar Pei theory.

"Yes. So how is everything going so far?" I imagine her stretched out on a beach chair, sipping refreshing iced tea, with Zeke peacefully dozing off in the next seat, while the sun envelopes them in a blanket of warmth. And they're on a white-sand, clear-water, picturesque beach featured in one of those pretty postcards.

I shift in my seat, and I can hear the bed sheets rustle from under me in the stillness of the house. "Um, you know, I don't know. I don't think they suspect anything."

She queries, "Are they nice?"

"Yeah, unbelievably nice. Your aunt and uncle are so sweet that I wish they could actually meet their real niece," I reply, remembering how Lucille genuinely cared for my well-being and comfort.

"Hey, don't you go blabbing to anyone about this, though. No matter how kind they might seem, no one can be trusted with out secret, got it?"

"Of course. You won't be the only one in trouble," I tell her. "Oh, does Zeke know you're actually supposed to be here instead of over there?"

"No ... he's taking a nap right now. He might take this the wrong way and maybe he won't see that I just want what's best for us," Sharpay responds.

"You're afraid he'll think you're a freak and dump you?"

"_Gabriella_. Zeke has supported me through everything. Don't you dare doubt our relationship."

"Hey, hey, all right," I try calming her down. "I was joking."

"Tell me in more detail about them, my relatives. Patched-up clothing? Straw hats? Cows?"

I muffle my laugh so Troy doesn't hear and think I should be institutionalized. "No, Sharpay. They're just average. Like me."

"Oh," she chirps, but I can tell she was expecting more. "Wait a minute. You can't be 'like you' anymore, Gabs. Be me. Try to have some more confidence in yourself and act as though you do have three closets of designer clothes."

I purse my lips. She could house three small families in each of those closets. They'd be clothed for a lifetime. "All right, I'll try ... But wouldn't you want them to think you've had a change of heart and stopped impulsively spending?"

"Well, sure. But you should have a smooth transition, you know?"

"Yeah, you're right. Do you think they planned to make you get a job? I've never applied for one anywhere." And my resume I once made for my Careers class in last year was pathetic. My skills and achievements wouldn't even match up with what Sharpay's supposed to have, anyway.

I wait for my friend to ponder this. "Probably," she says. "It's reasonable. I wouldn't be surprised if my dad suggested it."

"Oh, my God. Shar, what if I have to pay for my own meals? And rent!"

"No, no. Don't be silly; they think you're family. I know you, Gabriella Montez. You're going to freak out about this incessantly." Sharpay now has this stern, you-better-stay-on-task tone. "But you can't or else you might get too flustered and blow our cover."

I furrow my brow, uncertain once again. "I'll do my best to stay calm."

Softly, she adds, "Stay sane, all right? Don't be Gabriella the worrier. You even told be that you thought this would help you out. I know I've asked you to do this huge favour for me, and I really appreciate that you've accepted, but I don't want to come home to a jittery, traumatised best friend, okay?" I can hear the smile in her voice.

"Okay."

"I have to go, but call me every once in a while. And one more thing, it's best you don't get ... too acquainted with them. You'll be so sweet that they can't help but love you and they'll consider inviting the whole Evans family over for another summer. I don't think you'll enjoy two months of my parents and Ryan."

I giggle. "Got it, Shar. Thanks."

"Have fun over there, Gabs. Remember what I've told you!"

"You, too. Don't forget to put on sunscreen!" And because sometimes I love to tease her, I say cheekily, "And use protection!"

Right after I press the End Call button on the receiver, Troy knocks on the door. I stand up and pad across the room to open it slightly, just enough so he can see me.

He has his hands in his pockets and monotonously asks, "How's the unpacking going?" It's a nice effort to appear more welcoming.

My head whips around to see my two untouched suitcases that I shoved in one corner of the room before lunging for the phone to call Sharpay. I use my foot to subtly push the door a little bit more his way.

"Need any help?" He cocks an eyebrow.

Shar was kind enough to lend me some of her old designer clothes to replace the ones I've fished for on the sale rack that are still in my closet back home. I'm sure he'd laugh at some of the sequined outfits she stuffed in there despite my protests. "No, I'm fine." Smiling, I continue, "But thanks for the offer. I'll just be done it a bit."

"Is there enough room in there for our belongings?"

I huff. I thought he understood my spoiled-ness wasn't as extreme as he thought it was at the airport. "Yes, there's plenty."

He grins. "Just joking with you, Sharpay. So, anyway, if you don't mind me interrupting your unpacking, want a tour of the house? I only showed you where your room was and you scampered in there so fast after asking me if you could use the phone."

My cheeks turning pink, I say, "Okay, I'll just resume it later."

"Who did you need to call that urgently? I thought your parents didn't want to be disturbed on their vacation," he says as he leads me to the hallway.

"Oh, just my friend from Chicago."

Troy points to a small room just next to mine. "Here's the bathroom. You'll have to share with me, since, well, this is only a three-bathroom house, and the one downstairs doesn't have a shower. The other one's my parents'."

I'm noncommittal because I have to make it seem like I've grown up in a ten-bathroom mansion all my life. Boi even has his own, with a custom-made dog toilet and a personal groomer who comes every once in a while. I giggle softly at the memory of the Yorkie squatting on the lowered and smaller toilet. He definitely learned not to drink from that one. Sharpay had laughed at my shocked expression when I witnessed her dog's marvellous house-training for the first time.

"What are you laughing about?" He stares at me, dumbfounded. "Lots of people only have a few bathrooms."

I'm blushing again. I've got to learn to control that. "Oh, nothing, sorry. Just a memory."

He quizzically eyes me before gesturing to the next door. "Okay, then. My room is here."

The door is closed. "I can't see inside?"

"It's messy; we don't have maids or housekeepers or anything like that. I was supposed to clean it before you came, but I never got around to doing it," he admits, scratching the back of his neck.

It's pretty redundant hearing Troy explain the middle-class lifestyle, but his voice is too velvety and heart-melting to inform him, "I know, I've been to my friends' houses before and I know they don't have as much as I do," like Sharpay might say if she wanted him to shut up.

I follow him down the hall where he shows me the master bedroom, where his parents sleep. When I was ten, the master bedroom was just my mom's, then there was my room and in the basement was my dad's couch.

He snaps me out of reminiscing as he motions for me to go downstairs. The family room is painted a deep brown with warm-coloured furniture and drapes. Against one of the walls is a television, and against the opposite one is a couch.

There's also framed pictures on the walls, windows to the Bolton's memories. One of them is a photo of Jack and Lucille's wedding day. Just from their smiles, I can tell that Mr. and Mrs. Evans missed out when they didn't attend. There are family portraits, but a lot are just of Troy. I watch him grow up in a matter of seconds as I scan each photo. Some are from school, others are him playing basketball. I find the pictures of a younger Troy especially cute, and I tell him this.

"Thanks," he replies. "Yeah, my parents really like taking pictures, preserving moments forever and all that."

"But that's great! I wish I had more pictures of myself when I was young."

"You don't?" He seems confused at first but then he grins. "What, did they favour Ryan more or something?"

Suddenly I'm reminded that I am Sharpay Evans with parents who would hire a dozen professional photographers for every birthday, graduation and special event. "Um, my parents really like paintings. Ryan and I usually got painted instead of photographs, and I, um, just felt the artist didn't do me justice."

"Right, of course," he says. "So over there is the kitchen."

Troy leads me to marble counter tops, a steel refrigerator and cherry-wood cabinets. Now this is a kitchen Zeke would drool over. "I don't know how this works at your house, but my mom likes to eat breakfast together as a family, so make sure to be down by 7:00 am. She was a bit lenient during the school year when I had to leave early for basketball practice, but it's summer now."

"No sleeping in?" I find myself musing.

He chuckles. "Sorry, princess. We do it differently over here."

"Well, anyway, you have a very nice home. Thanks for showing me around."

"No problem," he says.

The Bolton house is larger than mine is, but cosier and more inviting.

"Hey, Troy?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you, uh, getting a job this summer?" After seeing the kitchen, I've been wondering if I'm going to be served food for free ... or not.

"A job? I want to, but the job hunt has been unsuccessful so far. I'm saving up for a car."

I almost said cool and asked him how much he had, but then he might take it the wrong way and think I was rubbing it in his face that I had more money.

He questions, "Why? Have you ever worked?"

I shake my head and wring my hands behind my back. "No, not really."

"Never had to do chores either, huh?"

God, what is with this boy and asking questions he already knows the answers to? Wait. Darn. I think I'm the one who told him to stop assuming and find out the truth straight from my mouth. "We have a lot of help around my house. They get paid well."

"I hate to break it to you, Sharpay, but you'll have chores here. Keep your room tidy, make us dinner, set the table, wash the dishes, do the laundry, polish the floors--everyday--and you'll keep my parents happy."

My jaw drops open. "All of that?"

Part of me knew he had to be joking, but it was worth the fake shock to hear Troy's laugh. "Nah, you'll just help us with everything. We weren't expecting to house a Cinderella for the whole summer. Sound good?"

"Yeah, sounds a lot better." I grin.

We amble upstairs and Troy asks, "You sure you don't need any help unpacking?"

"I'm good," I say. "Can I please see your room?"

"Why? There's nothing very interesting in there." As we reach the second floor, Troy intentionally stands between his door and me.

I answer, "I think someone's room tells a lot about the person."

"You won't even let me help you unpack."

"You still know that I'm rich, spoiled and that I've never touched a cleaning utensil in my life among other things. I only really know that you like basketball. Come on, Troy. Please?"

"Nope," he refuses nonchalantly.

"Fine then," I huff and pad back to my room. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his retreating back, heading downstairs, and that's when I lunge for his doorknob.

"Sharpay!" he exclaims, scampering back to pull me away before too much is revealed.

But I've already slammed the door wide open.

We both pause.

Wow. When I said I only knew Troy liked basketball, I shouldn't have expected much more. All his room did was restate the fact over and over again with a basketball lamp in the far corner, a basketball pillow on his bed, basketball players on posters, numerous basketball trophies, more pictures of him playing basketball and a basketball screensaver on his computer.

So it is messy. Clothes strewn everywhere along with some papers, books and trash, but not too far off from what my own room can be like sometimes. Of course he can't know this, though.

He clears his throat from behind me. "Told you."

"Your room is very informative, Troy."

He breaks out a smile and enters the room to stand beside me. "Can you name anyone?" he asks, referring to the basketball legends staring fiercely down at us.

I know as much about basketball as I do about iguanas. "Um, Kobe, LeBron and Gretzky?"

"Got two out of three."

"Ooh, which ones were right?"

Amused, Troy shakes his head. "I think you've seen enough. Now go unpack." He ushers me out the door.

When I get to my room, I open the blinds and unzip my suitcase. I frown at how the some of the sparkly clothing's' sparkles have attached themselves to my only non-sparkly clothing. All the clothes are as flat as a pancake after being packaged so tightly. I find expensive make-up Sharpay's donated to me, which she expects me to wear everyday, and two pairs of four-inch heels. What the hell am I going to do with those?

Digging through everything, I begin feeling the tiniest bit homesick.

Back in Chicago, when Shar wasn't looking, I smuggled in a photograph of the two of us. Hey, if I didn't make any friends here, I didn't want to forget the face of my only one. It was taken about two weeks after we met. Sharpay's pouting her glossed lips and I can see her extended arm that was holding the camera. I'm simply smiling, a bit nervously and a bit lopsided. She even has an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to make sure I was entirely in the frame.

What am I going to do here other than chores? Does Albuquerque even have any nice tourist spots? Will I leave the house? Will I even be able to leave the house if I can't find anything to wear that's not glittery?

It's not as if I can call Sharpay all the time. The Boltons might shriek when they get their phone bill like Sharpay does when her Dad cuts up one of her credit cards. Plus, she's having the time of her life with Zeke in the Caribbean.

I hope Troy doesn't stop talking to me. He's nice, nicer than I originally thought. And, when he was standing beside me in his room today, I noticed he smelled good, too. I don't know what it is, but it makes me want to keep inhaling until I feel light-headed. But if he gets a summer job with his friends, there's not stopping him from forgetting about me.

If I stayed in Albuquerque, I'd be in a similar situation, alone with nobody, except there, I'd just be the plain old, boring Gabriella. Here I get to be Sharpay who thinks she's queen of the world and no one knows my past.

I have to make the most of this experience, but I have to do it carefully. I didn't have a lot to start with, but I'm risking it all, like I wanted to in the first place. But now it's not just humiliating myself in front of my math class. If I fail, Sharpay will hate me, the school will find out and my parents would be so disgraced.

I'll be shit out of luck if I end up with nothing but air to breathe, keeping me alive so I can live through the repercussions.

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**I just wanted to update this before I left on my trip on Wednesday. (I'm headed off to Australia! Thank goodness it's warm over there.) Reviews are greatly appreciated! Check my profile if you want a snippet of chapter five. :)**


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